


Sniffles

by LadyWallace



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale doesn't really understand it, Crowley has an imagination, Ficlets, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, but wholesome, gen - Freeform, maybe even crack, sick crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:55:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26025304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyWallace/pseuds/LadyWallace
Summary: Crowley is a demon with quite the imagination. Sometimes, Aziraphale just doesn't understand it.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 41





	Sniffles

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little ficlet that came from a conversation I had with 29Pieces ^_^ Enjoy! (And go check out 29's GO fics as well!)

It was a lovely spring day, and Aziraphale had announced they would have a picnic in the park to people watch. It was one of his favorite activities, watching humanity, and he could always do it for hours.

Crowley was grumbly that day, though, and huddled on the other side of the cloth in an oversized coat and scarf, which made Aziraphale frown. Even if they weren't supernatural creatures that didn't pay much attention to weather anyway, it wasn't even cold by human standards. It was, in fact, a very mild day, hence the picnic.

He shook his head though deciding not to question it. Sometimes the things Crowley did just didn't make sense to him. He turned back to the basket and pulled out two glasses and the bottle of wine he had brought, setting down the glasses to fill them.

_"Achoo!"_

Aziraphale looked up, startled at the sneeze that had exploded from the huddled demon. He spilled several drops of wine on the cloth and hurriedly whisked them away with a miracle.

"What on earth was that?" he demanded.

"A sneeze, angel," Crowley mumbled in the scarf, sniffing as he stuffed his hands further into the pockets of his coat.

"Yes, I know it's a sneeze but why are _you_ sneezing?" Aziraphale asked.

Crowley sniffled again, hunching further until the only thing visible were his shaded eyes and his hair. "Think I'm sick."

"Again?" Aziraphale demanded. "You can't possibly be sick again, Crowley! That's what…the sixth time this year already?"

Crowley coughed and nodded his head miserably.

"You can't even _get_ sick!" Aziraphale protested.

Crowley sniffled again. "Must have the worst immune system of any demon."

"My dear, you haven't got an immune system!" Aziraphale tried to reason.

Another cough. "No wonder I'm sick all the time."

Aziraphale stared at him incredulously. "That—that's not how it works, Crowley!"

"Well what do you want me to say?" Crowley demanded, finally revealing his whole face like a perturbed turtle. "I _am_ sick! I don't know _why_. Maybe I'm cursed or something."

"Or something," Aziraphale mumbled under his breath. "Crowley, have you ever considered that you are sick so much simply because you _think_ you are sick?"

The demon stared at him blankly. "Wot? You're not making sense, angel."

Aziraphale huffed. _He_ was the one not making sense? "You know how you can think things and they just happen? Maybe you think about being sick and so you get sick."

"Why would I do that to myself? I hate being sick?" Crowley demanded, indignant.

"You're the one who believed you had a terrible immune system, when, biologically, you shouldn't even have one," Aziraphale informed him. "If you believed that, then maybe you saw someone cough or sneeze yesterday and thought you might catch their cold and, lo-and-behold, here we are."

"That's ridiculous."

"Crowley, two weeks ago, you were coughing up blood because you were convinced you had consumption," Aziraphale snapped. "Then after I gave you tea and honey you were fine the next day."

"Isn't that how you get over being sick?"

"Not from consumption!" Aziraphale cried, exasperated. "Really, dear, how many years have you been on this earth? How can you not know these things?"

Crowley shrugged, glancing balefully at the half-poured glasses of wine. "Probably shouldn't be drinking that."

Aziraphale sighed, and, deciding quickly, he snapped his fingers and the picnic was packed away once again. He rose, reaching down to give Crowley a hand. "Come on then, if you really are sick, best get you back to the shop where it's warm. I'll make you a cup of tea instead."

Crowley reluctantly agreed, allowing Aziraphale to pull him to his feet as they trudged back to where he had parked the Bentley.

"You really think I'm doing this to myself?" Crowley asked. "Why would I do that?"

"Like I said, I don't think you're doing it consciously," Aziraphale said gently. "It's just…you have this habit of making things happen the way you think they _should_ , which isn't always the way things _actually_ work. Does that make any sense?"

"No," Crowley replied and muffled a cough in his elbow.

Aziraphale sighed as they reached the Bentley and Crowley opened the doors.

"See? Aziraphale pointed. "You didn't have to use a key to unlock it."

"But it always opens like that," Crowley protested. "You're honestly ridiculous, angel. Let's go."

Aziraphale huffed, stuffing the picnic basket in the back and getting into the passenger side of the car. Crowley sneezed as he got behind the wheel and started the car.

The Bentley came to life with a wheeze and a cough of exhaust. Crowley gestured toward the dashboard. "See? Even my car is sick! It must have caught the cold off of me!"

Aziraphale pressed his face into his hand. "Crowley, vehicles cannot contract sicknesses."

"They can't?" Crowley asked.

"No!"

"Oh."

The ride suddenly got smoother and the coughing exhaust stopped, leveling out to the normal humming purr of the Bentley's engine. This, of course, only worked to prove Aziraphale's point further, but he didn't bother pointing that out. He feared some things were beyond his friend's ability to comprehend.

He honestly didn't understand the demon himself sometimes and this was a good example of why.

But Aziraphale was also a good friend, perhaps the best, and so he simply took Crowley back to the bookshop, sat him down with blankets and some nice music playing in the background. He let Crowley soak his feet, and made him tea with honey, which he drank while Aziraphale read to him.

And of course, Crowley was back to normal the next day as if nothing had happened at all, but no one would ever hear Aziraphale say anything about it.

Sometimes, he had found that it was just easier to allow Crowley's imagination to run its course.


End file.
